I am deeply sorry for the victims and their families in Oregon. I am also mad as hell. As I try to comprehend what has happened, again and again, I find it harder to cope.
It’s more than a political issue. It’s more than finding better ways to help people with mental illness. It’s more than how the media portrays it and how we react.
I don’t have the answers, but I know this complacency we have settled into isn’t enough.
Writing is my sanctuary. I am not much of a poet, but this was in my heart. I hope to share with you, through my writing, my grief, fear, and anger. It’s the only way I know how.
I see my face in all the victims
Splattered blood spreads but I’m not sure from where
Might as well be mine
As it happens all the time.
No action speaks louder than broken promises
Thoughts and prayers go devoted to unknown people
Families grieve and we say sorry
I try to sleep but I’m full of worry.
These are our children we raise to be good
Greeting the world with their heads down in this land of the free
Bang, a loud noise hangs in the air
It was nothing this time but I’m covered in tears.
Watching a movie, the darkness suffocates and shadows loom
Sitting in class, the doors remain shut and locked
Running down the street, feet hit pavement with trepidation
Praying, whatever our beliefs may be, for a spark of salvation.
When it happens in front of us we preach love
When it happens to one, it happens to all, and we seek love
When people are different than us we neglect love
Then we wonder how others can destroy love.
Another night, another headline flickers across the screen
Sorrow for the victims, anger towards the committer, emotions stimulated
Fear coils and lingers within, but so does complacency, ridiculing us all
How many more until we hear the call?
If we put guns in the hands of the perpetrators
The blood of the victims is on our hands
For all those who have been slaughtered
These scars cannot be washed away by soap and water.